I sit on the edge of a cold, uneven rock,

Legs dangling five feet above the water

White sneakers now stained brown

By the misty air making the dirt path a moist mud.

It's warm.

The sun a bright yellow topped with a strip of bright orange

As parallel as the colors in the rainbow

But I shiver.

It's not warm,

It's an illusion.

I think it's warm,

But every time a breeze comes

And the hair on my arm rises

And my legs cover in goosebumps

Because the water becomes waves

And they crash together and shoot up in the air

Landing on my shins,

Sometimes my thighs,

I shiver.

The yellow and orange fade

To a deep blue, then black

The only light is the shining stars

And the old street light behind me

Flickering a top of a cracked, wooden pole.